The Brief December
by Nancy Brown
Summary: Three stories for a winter night, or, Torchwood in the dark of the year.  Part of my fake third season.
1. I Too fragile for winter winds

Title: The Brief December (1/3)  
Author: **nancybrown**  
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto (past Jack/everyone), Gwen, Mickey, Martha, Lucy Saxon, Lois, Johnson, Rupesh, OCs (other Whoniverse mentions and cameos)  
Rating: PG-13  
Words: 13,500 (2800 this part)  
Spoilers: CoE (characters only), DW: EoT  
Summary: Three stories for a winter night, or, Torchwood in the dark of the year.  
Warnings: original characters, no unifying plot, schmoop, angst, (schmangst?), mentions of TYTNW  
Beta: **fide_et_spe** and **lawsontl** both took a look at this, helped kick it into shape, and have my deepest thanks; remaining mistakes are all mine  
Author's Note: Part of an alternate third season where Lois, Johnson, and Rupesh have joined the team. Written for **the_longest_night**. Parts will be posted leading up to the Winter Solstice.

* * *

I. Too fragile for winter winds  


* * *

  
_December 10th_

* * *

The phone rang on Jack's private line, the number only a few people knew. He didn't recognise the caller ID. "Harkness."

"Hello, old man," said a thready voice.

"Hold on." He covered the speaker with his hand. "I need to take this." Leaving the team in the Boardroom with their lunch, Jack hurried to his office and shut the door. "Frank," he said as warmly as he could. "How are you?"

"Is this a bad time?" Thready was the right word. Frank's once robust voice had reduced down to a thin wheeze, time compressing in on him like a vice.

"Never. Someone else can save the world for a few minutes."

"Don't let them get used to it. I don't want to hear you've been slacking off in your old age."

"What, I don't get to be a pensioner, complaining about kids these days?"

"Knowing you, you'd be chasing the pretty nurses around the home."

"It's a tough job, but I'm up to it. How are they treating you?" Jack relaxed in his chair, enjoying Frank's long-distance company. He still ached in places he'd long thought healed over ever since he'd found and lost one son in the course of a few days. Talking to the other eased the sorrow, but even now, the sounds of the harried breaths Frank took spoke of how soon he'd lose this child as well.

"The food's terrible, the company's worse," there was a grin in his tone, and Jack pictured him directing it at another old geezer listening in nearby, "but the view's nice."

"That's good."

"I'm calling because I know you lot get busy at Christmastime."

Jack glanced at the calendar. Two weeks away, and he was already anticipating aliens of some sort trying to eat London. "We do."

"So I wanted to call early for once." Jack could hear another shadow in the words. He'd been around the dying, among them even, enough to know when someone was saying goodbye.

He looked at the calendar again. "Frank, what are you doing this weekend?"

* * *

"Ianto? A minute?"

Ianto got up from his chair and his half-finished food, and ignored the knowing smiles from the rest of the team. "Problem?"

"Could be." Jack led him back to his office and shut the door. "Barring emergencies, I'm going to take a few days off. I'll be back Sunday night." He placed a hand on Ianto's arm. "I'll tell the others, but I know you don't like surprises."

Ianto glanced down at the hand; they'd been avoiding touching one another at work, something which was turning out to be a much bigger aphrodisiac than Jack had anticipated. For the past week, it had been like the old days when they couldn't keep their clothes on much past the entranceway to the flat.

"Thank you. How _is_ Frank?"

Jack blinked. "Should I ask how you knew or just sign you up for psychic training in the field?"

Ianto gave Jack his cute 'I know more than you sometimes' smile. "Let me keep my mysteries and I'll let you keep yours."

A smile ghosted in return over Jack's face. "He's going downhill. He's got his own family, but I really should visit him."

"Were you planning on leaving today?"

"Yeah."

"Give me an hour before you tell the others?"

Jack nodded. He half-expected Ianto to lean in for a quick kiss, but again, not at work.

* * *

True to his word, Ianto returned from his errands an hour later. Jack waited for him to join the others, but before he could say anything, Ianto said, "We'll also need our copy of the full inventory to compare against theirs." He stood, as if awaiting orders.

Confused, Jack said, "All right."

Ianto turned to Lois. "Could you please pull up the inventory list we have on record for Torchwood Two? I'll need a hard copy. It's the usual passcode."

"On it."

"Thank you." He smiled courteously at her. Ianto always made a point of being nice to Lois. Jack assumed this was partly to avoid taking her for granted as the team had done to him in his own early days, and partly because he genuinely liked her. If it was also a social experiment, in which his example encouraged everyone else to use "Please" and "Thank you" with their admin, then that was a success as well.

Ianto turned to Gwen. "Has he remembered to tell you we'll be back from Glasgow sometime Sunday evening?"

Gwen's attention to Jack. "You're going to Glasgow?"

Ianto wore his innocent face. It was a perfect cover story that no-one would question, and kept Jack from having to give personal details about his life to the newer team members.

"I was gonna wait until everyone was together to mention it."

"Sorry," Ianto said without a trace of real contrition. "I thought you'd told them we were putting the site into lockdown."

Perry raised his hand. (Perry always raised his hand. Some day, Jack would get through to him that this wasn't school.) "Will you be bringing back any of Two's artefacts?"

Ianto nodded. "I've got a few in mind. You can look over the list before we leave to check if there are items you want to study here. Anything not dangerous, I may look into shipping separately." He included Johnson and Rupesh in his comment.

Lois returned with the printout, and Ianto let the others take a look. Gwen said to Jack, "So we're closing Two entirely?"

Jack folded his arms. This was one of the options they'd discussed, and unless they found someone to take it over, the most logical choice. "For now. If we put everything into lockdown proper, nobody will be able to get into the place, and we can reactivate the site when we have a new Director."

He watched as Ianto made notes on the inventory with wish lists from the rest of the team. They'd go over Johnson's requests carefully; they still didn't trust her. Ianto had said "we." Jack wouldn't have and couldn't have asked him along on a visit to Frank, but he was the natural choice for a business trip to Scotland.

There were times Jack really wanted to put a name around the emotion he felt for the man who'd quietly and completely infiltrated his heart.

Two hours later, reins officially handed over to Gwen, actual day-to-day operations unofficially handed over to Lois - Jack pretended he didn't know how much of Torchwood was run by its admins, and the admins did him the return courtesy of not pointing it out - they were in the car and on the road.

"I think it's best if we go directly to Glasgow," Ianto said. "I brought the information for one of your alter egos, and you can rent a car using that identity as soon as we arrive. The team will assume you're with me."

Jack kept his eyes on the road. "You should have cleared this with me first."

"You'd have said no, and we'd still have to make the trip to Glasgow in a few weeks. Plus, you'd have raised suspicion with our new recruits, and while your air of mystery is intriguing, it's none of their business where you're going."

"But you knew."

He shrugged. "I knew. And I knew that if this weekend goes badly, you shouldn't be alone." In the back, a slim black garment bag hung from the hook. Ianto had brought Jack's one good suit, just in case.

Jack drove. After a while he said, "Thanks."

Ianto didn't reply. He reached out, and he took Jack's free hand, and held it for miles.

* * *

_December 11th_

* * *

"Knock off, then," Gwen had said, smiling over the last report on her desk. "It's Friday night, and you all did good work today." When Lois had suggested Gwen also leave for the night, she'd said, "When I'm done. Then Rhys and I are going to have a nice dinner, just the two of us." Her smile had grown and she'd shooed Lois away.

"Pub," Lois had said, imperiously, but she'd also cocked her eyebrows at Johnson, who then informed their doctor that he was going with. Johnson returned to her typical glower when she noticed Perry joining them.

And now, Perry was excusing himself to the gents', with the quickest of touches to Lois's chair.

"Could you order us another round when you're back?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure."

Johnson leaned forward the second he was out of sight. "Why is he here?"

"Camouflage," Lois replied, playing with her glass. "He's with us, no-one suspects."

"They don't suspect anything," said Rupesh. "You're sure this is the top secret organisation you were talking about?"

Johnson said, "Do you see anyone else fighting little green men in Cardiff?"

"And they do suspect, at least in a probationary way. I'm in charge of monitoring you both. Rupesh, clear your browser history more often, please." His taste in pornography ran towards the dull, but Lois would rather not have to look just to report back that there was nothing interesting.

"They're not monitoring you?"

"They haven't killed me or wiped my memories, so no." They would, Lois felt sure. Were she found out, they would shove a little pill down her throat, or they'd take her to the showers because Ianto hated cleaning up bloodstains.

"When are we making our move?" Rupesh asked, eyes flicking over to the corridor with the toilets. Perry would be back soon.

"When the order comes. Not before. Just lay low and do your job."

"You said you have discretion over the assignment," said Johnson. "If you think it's warranted, you could act at any time."

If there came a severe breach. If she believed the world, or Great Britain, to be in peril due to Torchwood's imminent actions. "Yes."

"Then we should act," Rupesh said.

Lois and Johnson shared a look, and she was relieved to see Johnson's face reflect her own thoughts: he was a fool, but a useful fool.

"The call is mine to make, not yours."

Perry was at the bar with the drinks. Johnson watched her eyes. "You know we'll have to take down Cooper and Jones when we take Harkness. What about Fletcher?" Though she didn't need to elaborate, she asked, "What's going on between you?"

"Nothing. Nothing important. He's very old-fashioned, and he likes me. I assume that six months from now, he may be ready to hold hands."

Rupesh laughed, and again, she shared a moment with Johnson that didn't include him. But it was true. Lois had noticed that Perry was trying, in his sweet and time-displaced way, to court her. And she found as he went about it that she liked him, too. "Let me worry about Perry." She'd make sure he was out of the way if and when they made their move, and she'd explain to him after that Jack had been a threat.

"Be sure that you do," said Johnson, and then she raised her head as Perry came back to their table with the drinks. "Fletcher."

"Here you go, Miss." Johnson hated being called 'Miss,' and it was just possible that he did it to annoy her, but his poker face on the matter was even better than Ianto's. Lois kept her laughter inside as she took her own drink, and thanked him with a smile, and wondered, just perhaps, if her mission could be postponed indefinitely.

* * *

_December 13th_

* * *

The grounds at the home were festooned with tinsel and lights, something bright for the residents to enjoy. Jack always felt ambivalent about these facilities. His friends, the lucky ones, grew grey-haired and bent, and were shuttled to care homes by their children, but Jack was the oldest old man of all, and would never find himself packed off to a place like this.

Or would he? He might go on and on, aging slowly, until a million years from now, bald and wrinkled and muttering to himself (not incontinent, please, not incontinent), he'd be in care with nothing to do but play bingo for a billion years and wonder why his great-great-great-great-grandchildren stopped visiting.

"Your hair looks fine," Ianto said, shaking him from his thoughts. Jack stared at him blankly, until Ianto added, "You've been smoothing it for two minutes."

Jack looked at his hand as if seeing it for the first time. Ianto had joined him last night after finishing up in Glasgow, but hadn't asked any questions about Frank. He'd returned the rental car to the local agent, retrieved a late supper when he found out Jack hadn't remembered to eat, and packed away Jack's things in the morning.

Today's visit would be short. Jack had spent two days playing chess and talking, with one chilly stroll out on the grounds, and now it was time to say goodbye. The next time he saw Frank, it would be at his funeral.

"While you're here," Ianto said, "I'll go pick up supplies for the trip home." And now he was giving him space so Jack had time for his farewell, another small kindness of the many he'd offered this weekend.

"We'll get them on our way out of town. Come on," Jack said, getting out of the car.

"Inside?"

"Sure. Don't mention Phil, because he doesn't know."

They went inside together, signing in at the visitor's desk. Jack knew the way to Frank's room now, stopping to smile at the residents, at the staff. A wink and a grin had served him well over the years to gain admittance through many a door, and he used them now, making his way through the corridors.

"Hey, old man," Jack said, opening the door to Frank's room and waving at his roommate. "Morning, Sam."

"You're late," said Frank, twisting his wrinkled mouth into a welcome. He looked past Jack. "Who's this?" His gaze went to Sam, though, as if Jack needed the reminder of their audience.

"Ianto Jones," Ianto said, going over and extending his hand. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Harrison."

Frank shook Ianto's hand, but his face went odd. Jack had mentioned Ianto to him already, but it would be disconcerting to meet his father's lover, someone young enough to be Frank's own grandson. Even as they found chairs and sat by Frank's bedside, chatting idly about Cardiff and the weather, Frank's eyes kept darting back to Ianto.

Jack found story after story to tell, edited for Sam's benefit and lengthened to stretch out the visit that much longer. They had to leave, they did, but he wanted to stay. "And then she said … "

There was a knock at the doorframe. "Hi, Dad," said a voice Jack didn't know. He turned, expecting a member of Sam's family, but instead came face to face with one of his granddaughters. "I didn't know you had company."

Jack and Frank exchanged glances. Frank's family didn't know, would never know, and that was the price, that was their safety. "It's all right, Bonnie," Frank said. "My friends here were just leaving."

And that was it. No more time, no more words.

Ianto stood up. "Oh, you're Bonnie? Frank's told us so much about you," he said warmly, approaching her with a firm stride and a wide smile. He took her hand graciously, and at the same time, pulled her around just enough, Jack saw, that she was temporarily facing Sam's bed instead of Frank's. Both Bonnie and Sam were looking at Ianto for a few important seconds.

Jack leaned over and pressed a kiss against Frank's forehead. "Love you, always," he said in a whisper.

"I know," Frank whispered back, and they broke apart for the last time. "Take care of yourself," he said in a normal voice. "Give Alice my love."

Jack nodded, his throat closing around any further words.

As they left, Jack heard Bonnie say, "Who was that?"

"Old friend," Frank told her, and if he said more, Jack was already too far down the corridor to hear.

* * *

TBC


	2. II Gladsome tidings now we bring

_**The Brief December (2/3)**_  
Title: The Brief December (2/3)  
Author: **nancybrown**  
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto (past Jack/everyone), Gwen, Mickey, Martha, Lucy Saxon, Lois, Johnson, Rupesh, OCs (other Whoniverse mentions and cameos)  
Rating: PG-13  
Words: 13,500 (5000 this part)  
Spoilers: CoE (characters only), DW: EoT  
Summary: Three stories for a winter night, or, Torchwood in the dark of the year.  
Warnings: original characters, no unifying plot, schmoop, angst, (schmangst?), mentions of TYTNW  
Beta: **fide_et_spe** and **lawsontl** both took a look at this, helped kick it into shape, and have my deepest thanks; remaining mistakes are all mine  
Author's Note: Part of an alternate third season where Lois, Johnson, and Rupesh have joined the team. Written for **the_longest_night**. Parts will be posted leading up to the Winter Solstice.

* * *

  
II. Gladsome tidings now we bring  


* * *

  
_December 17th_

* * *

"So you'll be coming for Christmas, then," said Rhiannon, shaking Ianto out of the half-alert state in which he conducted most of their phone conversations.

"What?"

"Christmas. It's next week. You'll be coming. You can bring your … You can bring Jack, if you want." Her voice went into that super-casual mode she used whenever Jack came up. She liked him, of course she liked him, everyone liked him, but Rhiannon was also a touch worried, wasn't she?

"I'll have to check with him. I think he was talking about visiting with his own family." Not an outright lie. Not an outright truth, either. "I'll let you know."

"Do. What size are you wearing these days?"

"Rhi, do not buy me clothes. Please." Years past of jumpers he couldn't even give away to jumble sales haunted his memories. She meant well, and he loved her, but he had his limits. There was a chirp in his other ear. "I have to go. Love to you and the kids," he said automatically, and rang off.

_"Boardroom,"_ Jack said. _"Everybody."_

He stashed his mobile in his pocket, straightened his clothes, and hurried to the Boardroom, where the rest were gathering for a meeting. He took his seat, not the last one in the room, at least. Jack stood at the front, arms folded, waiting.

"Thanks," Ianto said with a smile to Lois as she passed him his mug.

"Any idea what this is about?"

"No." He watched Jack as Jack watched everyone settle into more-or-less attentive poses, but Jack's stance gave away nothing. Ianto did what he liked to think of as his 'I'm not staring, really,' pose, where he looked into his coffee as he drank, while focusing elsewhere.

There. Even as Ianto recognised the little tell-tale line on Jack's face, almost perfectly masked by practise and time, his heart sank. He didn't have to know the topic of today's impromptu meeting. He already understood it had to do with Jack's time away from them, and the horrific year it represented.

Jack gave a tight smile to the room, then reached over to press the speaker button. "Mickey, you there?"

_"Go ahead,"_ came the voice from the box.

"So, for everyone who came in late," Jack glanced at Lois, Johnson, Perry, and Rupesh, "Martha and I were captured by a malevolent alien who took over the world for a year and wanted to use the Earth as a launch pad to control large swathes of the universe."

Lois laughed, while Johnson and Rupesh just stared. Perry gave the statement the same consideration he did everything unexpected, which was to wonder if things were just like this in the future. (The answer was often: "Yes, but only for Torchwood.") Ianto and Gwen had already heard parts of the story, and caught one another's eye as they sat back and waited.

"This again," said Gwen's glance, and then her eyes slid back to Jack.

Lois stopped laughing, and covered her mouth in embarrassment. "You're serious?"

"Afraid so." Jack's expression didn't change, but he also didn't berate her. "We stopped him. Martha and the Doctor and me. If you don't remember, be very, very glad."

Johnson raised her hand. "I don't remember. I'm not glad. What happened?"

The tight line on Jack's face grew. "Hell. You don't need details." The details Ianto knew were sketchy, but sufficient. "He held several of us prisoner, and he … " Jack blinked, clearly trying to push away what he felt, to play a role for them. Sure enough, a second later he wore an off-hand smile. "He was a nutter. Enough said." His voice went nonchalant in the way it did when he was conning someone. "Anyway, one of his prisoners is still locked up. Our agent in London found where she's being held. Once we're ready, we're going to spring her."

"Why?" Johnson looked less than convinced.

"Because it's the right thing to do."

"So is following the speeding limit. We don't do that, either. Is this person being detained by an alien megalomaniac, and if so, shouldn't our primary concern be the alien megalomaniac in question?"

"He's dead. She's not. You don't leave people behind."

Ianto let out a breath. He saw Perry straighten his shoulders, clearly thinking back to the war, while Ianto knew Jack had another association with leaving people behind. He wouldn't let this go, not ever.

"Where is she located?" Ianto asked, a little louder than necessary. "We'll need to see the security of wherever she is."

Gwen picked up his cue, bless her. "If there are local authorities nearby, we'll want to contact them to keep out of our way."

_"Broadfell Prison,"_ said Mickey. _"It's not far from your position. Old prison, constructed in the 1950s, now barely used except for prisoners waitin' for transfer to somewhere else. Skeleton staff, but always on duty. I've worked out the rotations and I think I've figured out most of their outside security precautions."_

"That's good intel," Gwen said warmly.

_"Despite what Captain Underpants may have told you, I'm more than just a pretty face._

"Some of the guards may be under alien control," Jack said, cutting through the humour. "We can't tell if it's mind control, which we can jam, or if he just wound them up into a cult, which means we'll have to take them out."

_"Working on it,"_ said Mickey. _"By the time you're here, I'll know. Be ready."_

"Thanks." Jack closed the connection. "We're keeping the team small. Martha, Mickey and I are already in this. Gwen, Johnson, I'll need you as firepower. Perry, you're coming for support, but I expect you to stay out of the direct action unless I tell you otherwise. Everyone else, you're here as backup. Understood?"

Ianto saw only nods around the table. He held his own opinion until after Jack dismissed them. He helped Lois clear the table.

"Thanks," she said nervously. "I shouldn't have laughed. I thought he was making a political joke."

"He doesn't do that. It's all right. I'm sure he's forgotten already."

"What is this all about, Ianto? He was held prisoner for a year? And Martha, too?"

"It's complicated. The Doctor. Time travel. You'll get used to it." Ianto hadn't, it was true, but there was no point telling that to Lois. Jack had left them, and had been gone much longer than they thought, and he'd come back different. Better, Ianto tended to think, but also, on the bad nights, a bit more broken as well. If this rescue mission was what he needed to finally put that awful year to rest, Ianto would help.

"If you've got this," he said.

"Sure."

He went to Jack's office and let himself inside. Jack was looking over a file. "I remember when you used to knock."

"Why am I not on the mission?"

"I don't need you there."

That was probably true. Gwen and Johnson both were better shots. "What's the other reason?"

"I want you coordinating things in case we get into trouble on-site. You're better at arranging emergency diversions than Lois is."

"And?"

"I think those are perfectly good reasons."

"You never mentioned this, not once. I knew you'd been working with Martha and Mickey on something, but you hadn't said what."

"You didn't need to know."

Again, this was likely true. If the operation was as secret as Jack indicated, tipping his hand to anyone who didn't absolutely need to know about it could jeopardise the plan. If anything, he ought to have told Gwen, as his second in command, but Ianto was merely a field agent. Jack hadn't needed to share the details of the investigation with Ianto, so he hadn't shared them.

Jack was behaving like a normal, competent manager. Ianto was at a loss.

"Jack … "

"There's a good chance it's a trap." Jack kept his eyes on the file. Broadfell. "It's the perfect set-up to grab me and Martha. Little breadcrumbs, give us a reason to want to walk in ourselves. If I were making a trap for us, this is exactly how I'd do it."

"Who would set a trap for you?"

A shudder moved through Jack.

"He's dead," said Ianto. "You said so yourself."

"I can't afford to be wrong." He looked at Ianto. "He killed you. In the other timeline." That wasn't a surprise. Bit creepy, to know there was a world where he'd died, that was all. "He made me watch."

"I gathered." He took a breath. "He also killed Gwen, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

But Gwen was going and Ianto was staying behind. The problem with their latest resolution to keep the personal issues at home and the professional issues at work was that this life they led meant the two were entangled within and around each other like a creeping vine that choked itself. Was it a business reason or a personal one for Jack to make this decision, especially when Jack himself was living in terror of a dead man? And what more could Ianto do to reassure him, except perform his tasks and prove that he was alive?

He changed tactics. Fighting Jack wouldn't do any good. "What do you want me to do?"

As he'd guessed, the tension eased from Jack's shoulders. "Two things. Two big things. First, I want you to start setting up a new identity for our target. I'll give you the basics. Put together a good background for her." Ianto nodded. "Keep Lois out of it." Ah. This was going to be more illegal than usual, and Lois was new enough that Jack was still protecting her from the worst of it. "Second, I want you to help me think up a Plan B for when this goes bad."

"Do we have a Plan A yet?"

"You can help on that, too."

* * *

_December 19th_

* * *

Watch …

They drove to the site in two vehicles, and parked them down the road past where Ianto and Lois could find any security cameras. Gwen took charge of the camera-douser for when they ran into more. Mickey had the PDA with the layout of the facility. Martha had her kit and the perception filter. Perry had the scramblers, the lock picks, and the Plenarian device. Jack and Johnson had their guns.

A few precious minutes trickled by as Jack made them look at the blueprint again.

"We ought to wear masks," was the only thing Johnson said.

"We're the good guys," Jack replied. "And they know who we are."

Their dark clothes blended in with the night. Prisons were for people to escape from, not to break into, but still there were lights and guards and cameras. Gwen saw to it that the cameras were blind. Jack led them through the shadows the lights created. Perry turned on the scrambler and hid their footsteps from the ground sensors as they approached the building. The guards never saw them.

Click and blink and click again, and the side door, the servant door, the back way in was clear. "Gwen."

Gwen gave him the camera-douser and found a shadow and hid within it, watching the exit. She was his right hand, holding the back door ajar, and the one he could trust to wait.

In, around, every corner a terror, every sound the snap of the cage shutting, but Mickey's PDA led them like a golden ball of twine, and the tech in their hands kept them invisible. Martha walked beside him, steady and unafraid. Their target might be dead, or wounded, or broken, and Martha was a doctor first. Johnson kept the lookout, and if she didn't shoot the walls or windows out of nerves, they were going to make it through this just fine.

An alarm sounded.

Jack looked at the first doorway he saw. "In there," he whispered, sweeping them into what he hoped was an empty room.

His heart raced, and he sweated under his clothes. It was the Master. It was a trap. He'd been found out, and he'd be dragged back there, and this time there would be no reset, only endless days of pain and watching the people he loved die over and over …

"Jack?"

Martha's hand was on his shoulder, and her eyes were steady.

"Jack, it's not him. Come back. We need you here."

And after a long moment of misery, he believed her.

* * *

Gwen's eyes went wide when the alarm rang out. Her impulse was to run, but she forced herself deeper into the shadow.

She touched her ear.

* * *

Two sets of alarms, just offset by a fraction of a second, played over the speakers at the Hub.

_"Can you hear?"_ Gwen breathed, as Jack hissed, _"We've been spotted."_

Lois was already in front of her station, scanning the security feeds they'd hacked into at the prison. "It's an external alarm. Gwen, it's your position. They must have reset the ground sensors." It had been a risk.

Gwen swore.

_"Go,"_ said Jack, and the sound of Gwen's comm flicked off. Lois could picture her running, her path away from the cars and the prison. The ground was frozen and cold, but there hadn't yet been snow. Her footprints would be hidden.

Lois typed as fast as she could, uploading the file of a darting rabbit to the prison's server. The angle wasn't going to be perfect, but it was dark and grainy, and might be enough.

The alarm still came from Jack's open comm.

She looked at Rupesh. "Plan B."

* * *

Everything was down to breaths now. Jack listened to his people around him. Johnson stood completely still. Mickey tried and failed to keep himself from bouncing nervously on his feet. Martha took in long, deep breaths and waited, but she had done this many times before and was used to the perception filter. Perry was clearly terrified, but kept looking to Jack for what to do next, and all there was to do was wait.

* * *

From where she'd run, heart pounding and lungs burning in the cold air, Gwen could just spy the car pulling round right in front of the prison gate, could watch as the two figures within stepped out and approached. Then she had to keep running.

* * *

The alarm shut off.

Jack waited another two full minutes, just in case.

* * *

It was late, too late to be chasing more damned rabbits. Ever since they'd installed this new system, they'd had plenty of rabbits, and mice, and rats, and cats, and once a damned Rotweiller, it was a nuisance, and the matron resented it.

Everything about this job was a nuisance. Open a wing, bring in some drudge of a woman who'd had enough and knocked her two-fisted husband down once and for all, and transfer her out again. House some slip of a gel who wasn't bright enough to make her boyfriend use a condom, wasn't fast enough to get to the doctor for a termination, but could plan how to stash a tiny body in a skip miles from her house, and then she's gone in a week to the new facility. The only constant was the prisoner in the new wing, another husband-killer it said on her record, but her record said her name was Allison Frye, and not once had the matron ever seen that name come up from a trial or a newspaper clipping. Feed her, keep her, don't ask questions about her. Someone needed her alive.

Bloody nuisance.

And now there were two annoying, smiling idiots sent by the Board of Governors (probably that new Governor, that smirking blonde, what was her name, the matron couldn't remember) here for a scheduled late night inspection.

"Hi!" they said in tandem, bright with their own mediocrity.

The matron had forgotten the appointment, but there it was on her calendar, all verified, probably made by that awful Trefusis woman, who was home now and asleep, warm in her bed, not a night guard, oh no. The identification the smiling idiots carried matched the names for the appointment. The large set of forms the man pulled out of his briefcase bespoke hours of paperwork yet to be for her nuisance of a job with her nuisance of a prisoner.

"We'll need your full cooperation," he said. The accent said Wales, but the attitude said bloody middle manager sent to make her life even more miserable.

The matron was really beginning to hate this place.

She shoved a smile onto her own face. "I'm sure we'll be as cooperative as possible."

"I'm sure," said Tish.

* * *

The lock picks easily opened the cell door. The lone prisoner was asleep, and Jack wondered what she dreamt of. Then he knelt by the small bed and shook her shoulder.

Her eyes opened in confusion, and he put a finger to his lips. "You called. We came." He glanced up at Martha, who bent beside him swiftly, and even as the prisoner woke further, checked her over clinically.

"She's fine."

"Good." He stood. "Ready to go?"

She swung her legs out from under the blankets. Gone were the pretty suits and the voluptuous gowns. Lucy wore tracksuit bottoms and a tank top, her once-long hair cut short and left a bit dirty. But her eyes were bright and clear now that she'd shaken off her sleep, and free of madness.

"Oh," he said, remembering Perry. "Say cheese!"

* * *

The inspection included a tour of the facility. Both inspectors lost their perky gleam at the notion, and the matron would rather skip it than trudge through these dark corridors again, but the inspections always included the physical tour, and if she was going to have to deal with one, she was bloody well going to do it right.

She picked her two least-favourite guards to join them, reasoning that no-one should be enjoying their evening, and watched with delight as the two guards flanked the pissant inspectors.

"This is the old wing. We don't use it anymore."

Just then she heard a noise, and she stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a movement, heard a gasp, but she didn't see anything in the hallways, and the guards saw nothing at all. The inspectors watched the darkness with her.

She decided to poke them. "Some of the guards think there are ghosts here." She turned on the woman and said, "Boo!"

The woman let out a little nervous laugh. The man's eyes watched the empty corridor, and then turned back to the matron. "Shall we continue?"

The matron let herself enjoy her victory as she heard the woman lean in close to her partner and whisper, "You owe me so much for this."

They reached the prisoner's cell, the only one occupied just now. Bloody stupid idea keeping the prison open for one inmate. As they approached, the matron noticed how the woman shot nervous looks at the man, and he himself seemed uncertain. For a moment, she wondered if they knew who Allison Frye really was, and what she'd done to merit such special treatment. She wondered if they'd tell her.

Then the key was in the lock, and the door swung wide open. Allison sat up in her bunk, an unusually happy smile on her face.

"As you can see," said the matron, "she's fine."

* * *

"It's a simulation," Jack had said, and Perry had drunk up the information for later. Torchwood could copy people, with the right equipment. It wasn't a good copy, and it wouldn't fool someone for long, but once a man named Harper had been duplicated and the team hadn't noticed for hours.

"There's a physical form created," Ianto had said. "You can interact with it, talk to it, but it can only repeat a few phrases."

"But it's not real," Gwen had said. "It's a bit horrible, if you think about it."

The Plenarians had used it to send messages, like a recording. Their tech had immediately been stolen by neighbouring species and used as sexual devices, according to Jack, but Perry was learning that Jack always said that.

* * *

"Thank you, matron," said Allison's voice. "I'm very tired."

* * *

Johnson had remained out of the cell, and it was only when they were through the building, and outside walking back in the frigid air that she finally got a good look at the prisoner they'd rescued.

"I know you," she said, and then wished herself silent as Jack glared.

The woman nodded, and huddled more deeply into the jacket she'd been given.

Four miles away from the prison, the car carrying Captain Harkness, Dr. Jones and the prisoner took an exit Johnson didn't recognise, while their own car continued onwards. "Where are they going?"

Cooper said, "They'll meet us later," which wasn't an answer at all.

* * *

The inspectors cut their visit short after a call from their supervisor. Mr. Agarwal sounded cross, and the matron was only too glad to see the backs of them.

* * *

Rupesh rang off. Lois nodded at him, and uploaded the dummy files to replace the prison's footage of Ianto and Letitia. They were never there.

She saved her own copy of the original file just in case.

* * *

"She helped murder over a billion people." Tish had been quiet on the drive to the prison. This was the first she'd spoken since they'd left. "Six hundred million died the first hour. The Toclafane cut down more every day, for resisting, for no reason at all. Whole countries burned."

In his mind's eye, Ianto tried and failed to imagine the scope. He could throw around terms like millions and billions, but when it got down to it, his mental picture was fuzzy over a thousand. Who could visualise a million and mean it? A billion? Ground to death under a patent leather heel?

"They killed my brother."

Her words were very nearly devoid of expression. It hadn't happened. Jack and Martha had made it not happen, just like Ianto's death. But the loss was sharper now, personal. A billion dead were a number. Martha and Tish's brother had a face. Ianto had met Leo at the wedding.

"I'm sorry."

"It was some soldiers. They were supposed to bring him in alive, but someone didn't hear the order, or didn't care. It was fast. The Master brought the soldiers to the ship. It wasn't fast for them. He'd been practising, you see."

And then his mental picture was crystal clear. "On Jack."

"Perfect test subject." She looked like she wanted to say more, but stopped. Jack hadn't said much about what had happened to him, though his dropped asides and occasional nightmares had provided enough framework for Ianto to fill in the rest on his own.

"That was the Master, not … " he flailed for a moment; 'Lucy' was too informal for a woman he'd never met, and 'Mrs. Saxon' seemed grotesque, considering she'd shot Mr. Saxon, "_her_."

He noticed that she was speeding up the car a bit. They were going to rendezvous with the others, but apparently it would be sooner rather than later.

"She helped him come to power. She laughed when he started the killing. She went to prison for his murder, but it's the one decent thing she did, and a damned shame she didn't do it a year sooner."

He'd only met Tish once before tonight, so he had no way of knowing how tight a rein she was keeping on her emotions, or of where her breaking point might be. He thought maybe she was close. The Master had tortured and killed Jack. God alone knew what he'd done to the other prisoners. Jack had said they were all prisoners together, though, Martha's family and the Doctor and himself, and Lucy Saxon as well. He'd said it was hell.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and meant it.

* * *

The wind bit sharply through her coat, and Martha wrapped it close around herself. She knew she wasn't showing yet, but she kept imagining she was, that her coat fit more tightly, and her trousers, and everything. She was aware of the feel of the cloth, different than it was yesterday, looser than it would be tomorrow.

Jack had a large envelope in his hand. "Start practising your new name while you're on the ferry. By the time you reach the airport, you'll need to respond like you've had it all your life."

Lucy nodded, and Martha felt a small surge of sympathy. Everyone was starting a new life, it seemed.

More cars came and went from the car park, and Martha kept an eye open. When she saw his car, she smiled. Tom got out, clicked his key to make the little beeping noise as the locks engaged, and hurried to where they waited. "Sorry, I got away as soon as I could."

"It's fine," Martha said, and she tiptoed up to kiss him, at first lightly, until he pressed in for more. He would be gone again for days. But after this, he was back. He was staying.

The least prudish person in several galaxies cleared his throat, and Martha stepped back. "Don't you start," she said.

Tom shook Jack's hand, and then shook Lucy's. "It's good to meet you."

Martha blinked away the memories of watching him die. He was alive, here, now. They were going to have a baby. This was the timeline that mattered.

"Is everything in place?" Tom asked Jack.

"I put my best person in charge of creating her new identity. The tickets are in the envelope. We even packed her a bag." He indicated the floral-print valise, and Martha was never going to ask if Jack had made Ianto pack the ladies' clothes and toiletries.

Tom turned to Lucy, or Carol, as her new name was going to be. "Have they explained where we're going?"

"You're a doctor. You go to places where they need doctors. I'm going with you."

He smiled. God, Martha loved his smiles. "They need doctors, and nurses, and people willing to help. Do you know first aid?"

"I learned in the Guides."

"That's a start, then. You'll pick up more." He glanced at Jack. "You should know, where we're going isn't the safest place in the world. The opposite, really. Women and children are our usual patients, and our clinic has been targeted before for violence."

Martha knew all this. She'd gone with him to the clinics, and the little hospitals. Saying that women and children were their usual patients was a genteel way of avoiding talking about what they were being treated for, and how much violence. But they'd all seen more pain, even if Tom didn't remember it, and this was somewhere they could help.

Maybe Lucy understood, maybe she just knew there was no other option in front of her. "I'm ready."

More cars were parking, arriving for the ferry even as boarding began. Two figures made their way towards them, and she saw Jack's hand go for his gun before he relaxed. Tish and Ianto came into view.

Jack said, "You were supposed to meet us at the rendezvous point." Ianto shrugged, but he hadn't been the one who got out of the driver's side of Tish's car. Martha didn't miss the mild look of relief that crossed Jack's face and was hidden again; he'd been worried that Plan B might be the trap after all.

"I wanted to say goodbye," Tish said. She took Tom's hands and gave him a kiss on his cheek with a sweet, absent smile. "Have a safe trip."

"We will."

Then Tish let go of Tom's hands, and with the same slight smile, she punched Lucy.

She turned to Martha. "I'm ready to go now."

* * *

After the rendezvous, and the thanks, and the hugs, two cars went back towards London, and two to Cardiff. Ianto waited until he and Jack were in their car and on the road, with Gwen and Johnson following at a saner pace behind them.

He opened his mouth and Jack said, "You should have sent Rupesh."

"He can't do 'underling' well."

"Lois, then."

"I don't think Lois knows how to lie."

Jack looked like he wanted to argue the point, but dropped it. "I didn't want you there."

"I know."

"Was Tish all right?" His voice changed tone as the conversation switched gears.

"She will be, I think. Now."

"Good."

Her words came back to him, had been eating at him. "Jack, she said Lucy helped murder a billion people."

Jack kept driving. "She did."

It was still so strange to try and wrap his head around multiple timelines, but Ianto pushed his thoughts through. "That still happened. Just because you rewrote the timeline doesn't mean she didn't kill them." And you.

"Your point?"

Ianto wanted to know what had happened, the things Jack and Martha left out, the bits he'd guessed. They were both supposed to talk with an analyst, but the appointments kept getting delayed by the Rift, and Ianto had to admit, a bit of apathy. Yes, intellectually he knew professional help might get him to a healthier place about the horrible things that had happened in his own short life, and God knew Jack had experienced lifetimes of shit that would be best excised with intensive therapy. At the same time, Ianto wanted to be the one Jack talked out his demons with, and felt that bringing in an outsider was admitting defeat. Which was probably another sign of how much he ought to keep his appointments after all.

This whole mission had "personal demon" written in thick, black felt pen all over it.

"Why are we helping her?"

"It was the right thing to do." He'd said that before. Ianto wanted to believe him, but had trouble in the light of what Tish had said, and if nothing else, the murder of her husband had not been undone by the unravelling paradox.

"She's a killer."

Jack looked at him. His eyes were old, but kinder than they could have been. "We're all killers, Ianto. We don't get a redo. All we get is a chance to make things better next time for someone else."

Which was not at all a subtle way of reminding Ianto of his own second chance, and it was enough to quiet him for the rest of the ride home.

* * *

TBC


	3. III Sing the sad of heart to cheer

Title: The Brief December (3/3)  
Author: **nancybrown**  
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto (past Jack/everyone), Gwen, Mickey, Martha, Lucy Saxon, Lois, Johnson, Rupesh, OCs (other Whoniverse mentions and cameos)  
Rating: PG-13  
Words: 13,800 (5900 this part)  
Spoilers: CoE (characters only), DW: EoT  
Summary: Three stories for a winter night, or, Torchwood in the dark of the year.  
Warnings: original characters, no unifying plot, schmoop, angst, (schmangst?), mentions of TYTNW  
Beta: **fide_et_spe** and **lawsontl** both took a look at this, helped kick it into shape, and have my deepest thanks; remaining mistakes are all mine  
Author's Note: Part of an alternate third season where Lois, Johnson, and Rupesh have joined the team. Written for **the_longest_night**. Parts will be posted leading up to the Winter Solstice.

* * *

III. Sing the sad of heart to cheer

* * *

_December 22nd_

* * *

Stakeouts were boring. Boring boring boring. They knew the Ad'xtii were hiding something in this warehouse under heavy guard, knew they'd be moving it soon, knew the team had all the exits covered, including the sewers. (They'd drawn straws. Ianto and Rupesh were _not_ happy.) Gwen and Perry had the front. Jack and Johnson waited impatiently at the back, because Jack was sure this was the direction they'd be going.

Johnson's mobile rang. She went to silence it, but Jack shrugged. "Might as well answer."

She nodded. "Go ahead." She paused, face twitching. "Yes." Another pause. "No. Not really." The last words were uncomfortable. "Here." She shoved the phone to Jack. "It's for you."

Jack took it. "Hello?"

"I thought you'd be there," said Alice.

"We're on a stakeout. Did you need something?"

"Are you coming for Christmas? I need to know."

"Oh." Over the last couple of years, he'd made a habit of dropping in for a few minutes, Rift permitting. "I could. Did you have plans?"

"Steven's going to Joe's in the afternoon. You should come by in the morning. What did you get him?"

Jack himself thought nothing wrong with dropping by carrying armfuls of expensive presents, but Alice saw things differently. "I haven't yet. Is there anything he wants?"

"I'll send you his list. He found out about Father Christmas, so don't … "

There was a movement at the warehouse door. "Gotta go," Jack said and closed the phone, tossing it to Johnson. Back to work.

* * *

The day went badly. The shootout wasn't unexpected, but the Ad'xtii monarch was caught in the middle. Friendly fire didn't care who it hit, and that hadn't been fun explaining to the rescue team from Ad'x Four who'd shown up afterwards. All told, ten of the twelve Ad'xtii involved in the abduction were killed, along with two humans who'd been working in the warehouse next door. Minor injuries for the team, which Rupesh dealt with, and a long scolding from Gwen, because Jack had given the order to go in when she'd said it would be better to wait.

Long damned day.

Over their late supper, Jack's thoughts finally set aside the mess at the warehouse and returned to Alice. He chewed a bite of steak - he'd successfully broiled their meal, which wasn't much of a victory today but he'd take it - and said, "Remind me that I need to pick up gifts for Alice and Steven."

"You already have gifts for them." Ianto was freshly-showered after the sewer and the fight, and Jack resisted the urge to play with his damp curls. Instead he scratched through his own often unreliable memory.

"I do?"

"Steven had his eye on a new DS to replace the one that broke over the summer. You also bought him new games. Alice's favourite stone is a sapphire so you're giving her a lovely necklace with a solitaire pendant."

"I am?'

"Yes. You might also find something last-minute that you can't resist, but that's up to you." He took a bite of his steak. "You really outdid yourself on this. It's better than the last place we ate at."

"It's the cut. Use good meat and you'll get good results. When did I buy presents?"

"In Scotland. You're also shopped for the team and some of the notable names in your address book."

Jack sat back. "You were busy." Ianto had discretionary use of Jack's accounts, both Torchwood and personal. It was so much easier than trying to handle receipts or figure out how much of the grocery budget was Jack's share. Ianto did the shopping for the team and at home. Jack hadn't realised he'd taken over _all_ the shopping.

"Shutting down the site only took one day. I had time. Would you like to know what you bought them?"

"Sure."

"You found a hand-knitted jumper for Gwen that ought to bring out her eyes. The same place had a lovely scarf for Lois in her favourite colours, and since she forgets to dress for the weather, it'll be practical. You also went with practical for Martha and Tom, and you've ordered them a bassinet for the baby. Letitia loves Pierre Cardin, so you've bought her a bottle and you sent her flowers since I'm sure you didn't send her flowers before. Her parents are each receiving a basket of fresh fruit and muffins, to be delivered once a month for a year."

"That's... They'll like that." A lump passed through his throat and was gone. Fresh food had been a luxury for them all, once.

"You found a sturdy bookcase, thirties-era, at that antique shop on Hope Street for Perry, and a set of novels you think he'll enjoy to start filling it. You weren't sure what to get for Johnson, and settled on a subscription to 'Guns n' Ammo.'" Jack laughed. "And that's why. You don't know Rupesh well enough to know what he'd like, so you settled on a nice Glenlivet reckoning he could find someone to help him drink it."

"You've thought of everything."

"Mostly everything. Mickey is hard to buy for, and I suspect your penchant for the entirely inappropriate will be the deciding factor in what you give him."

Jack let a smile slip over his face as he considered this. "Yes." He swallowed the last of his water. "What did I get for you?" Last year, Jack had bought him a few ties, none of which had made it out of his bedroom.

Ianto went quiet. "You and I aren't much for gifts." Or, Jack thought, they were a bit too good at it. The Great Gift War of '09 had almost ended their relationship.

"Is there anything you want?" He suspected that he failed another boyfriend test with the question, given the look that passed quickly over Ianto's face before vanishing. Had he not been watching, Jack would have missed it.

"No." Probably true. Ianto could buy anything for himself he liked, and only recently had they any time at all to spend enjoying life outside of work.

A weird, uncomfortable silence slid in between them. Jack covered by taking his dishes to the sink. Ianto did the washing up, Jack did the cooking, and this was not a pattern he'd expected to be in, and the part of him that feared loss suddenly told him to flee, find a tall, cold rooftop or a warm, easy body, and just be somewhere else. Not stuck here. Not wondering what was an appropriate Christmas gift for the man he'd moved in with, not wondering if tomorrow he'd have to order his lover to his death.

He turned and there was a question on Ianto's face. Jack had a quick flash of a different path: Gwen in the kitchen chair, wondering why his mood had shifted, and she would ask, and press, demanding an answer until Jack gave one, and maybe they'd have fought about it, and maybe they'd have resolved it with sex, and maybe Jack would have taken the building or the body as an out. All of this came to him in one moment.

Ianto said nothing. Instead, he carried his own plate and glass to the sink, and without asking, he took Jack's hand and led him back to their bedroom.

And Jack got it.

* * *

_December 24th_

* * *

" … brings out your eyes," Jack said with a twinkle, as Gwen pressed the jumper against herself happily. She leaned up to drop a quick kiss against his cheek in thanks.

She urged a little box into Ianto's hands, and he gave her an equally small box with her name on it. "Open yours first," Gwen said, and Ianto tried not to rip into the paper. It was just the three of them left in the Hub now, having sent the others home with gifts and two days off contingent on no aliens for Christmas, but Ianto tried to pretend he had a little dignity.

The box inside was plain, and when he opened it, a laugh was pulled out of him from someplace deep inside. The coffee mug was truly awful, one of the mass-printed types he saw in the kitsch shops he'd visited searching for presents for Mica. It would have been perfect for her: a gaudy rainbow and cartoonish unicorn painted clumsily on the side. Jack looked confused, but that just made it funnier.

"Open yours."

Gwen had less use for dignity, and bits of paper hit the floor as she unearthed the tiny brass spinning wheel Ianto had found a month ago.

Her eyes shone as she brought it close to her face. "It really works," he said, "but you have to use very fine thread. For practise."

"Thank you," she said, and flung her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, determined to keep the moisture out of his own eyes.

Jack looked at them both. "I missed something."

"Private joke," Ianto said.

"Oooo! Is it a sexy joke?"

"No," they said together, and no matter how much he asked, neither of them said another word about it.

Gwen had delayed leaving for a reason. Perry would be sharing Christmas Eve dinner at hers, and she did need to get home before he arrived, but the three of them had agreed by quiet consensus to stay behind for an extra hour or so. Gwen pulled down the snap she kept and she brought it to the table. Ianto filled their mugs one more time, using his new one, and filled two more that he'd never allowed himself to discard. Jack sat in silence, his personal griefs more textured and distant than theirs, and filled to the brim long before either of the other two were born.

Last year, they'd spent an hour playing bad Christmas music, and drinking, and Jack had carried his own mistletoe so he could steal kisses from the whole team.

This year, Gwen was misty-eyed, and Ianto was finding it hard to stop the catch in his throat. Her fingers kept playing absently with the little spinning wheel, making a tiny squeak with every turn. Jack told the stories. Jack always told the best stories, even when they knew what happened. The Tale of the Brilliant Woman Who Built a Sonic Device From Bad Plans. The Story of the Brave Little Zombie Doctor. He even found a funny memory about Suzie, from before her madness, and gave them the Totally True Adventure of The Woman Who Took Down a Weevil With Her Spike Heel.

"I should go," Gwen said at last, and she kissed them both and wished them a happy Christmas.

When she was out the door, and Ianto nearly ready to leave himself, Jack said, "I want to finish up a few things here. I'll meet you at home, okay?"

"I could wait," Ianto said, confused.

"Actually, I was hoping I could talk you into a quick trip to the shops. Alice likes me better when I show up with food, so I was thinking a cake or something for tomorrow morning?" His voice went up to make it a question and a request, and if his eyes were shadowed when he asked, well, Ianto could give Jack space after their memorial service.

"Fine." He'd be fighting the last-minute shoppers over the dregs, but he was already thinking of a bakery that might still be open that did wonderful cakes and breads. He gave Jack's hand a squeeze. "How long will you be?"

"Not long." That same darkness edged his eyes although his voice was light. Ianto would be happy to kiss the hurt away, but this was work even if no-one else was there.

* * *

Jack waited until Ianto's car had pulled out of the car park. When the tail lights were no longer on the CCTV closest to the Hub, he let out a breath.

Rupesh didn't celebrate Christmas, but was going to spend the day with his brother and his sister. Lois had taken a train to London to see her family. Johnson was somewhere, doing something, and as long as Jack didn't find her at Alice's in the morning, he'd be happy. Gwen was taking Perry into her home tonight because she thought no-one ought to be alone at Christmas. Jack himself had a full day scheduled tomorrow courtesy of Alice and Rhiannon, who were both starting to treat Jack and Ianto as a unit. Jack was resistant to the notion, to the label, to all the trappings, because he'd been there before and not once had he come out without a broken heart. Yet when he was done here at the Hub, he was going home, and that one word answered the question of why everyone they knew thought the labels were appropriate after all.

His phone rang. Ianto always did act a bit psychic, didn't he? Jack answered with, "I said I'd be home soon, _dear_."

"So glad to hear it, darling," drawled the voice on the other end. The sudden ice in Jack's veins froze him even before the name 'John Hart' slotted into place in his brain.

He yanked the phone from his ear, but the Caller ID didn't read Ianto's mobile as he'd first thought. "What do you want?"

"Just calling to wish you the Merriest fucking Christmas you've ever had." The slur was more apparent now. John was drunk.

"Where are you?"

He could picture John's slow blink, gathering his surroundings. "Somewhere warm. I got you a present."

The cold was back. "Who?"

A loud laugh pierced his ear and Jack pulled away again. "Good one! I can't tell you. It's a secret!" He was trying to whisper, and failed.

John was somewhere warm, and in an altered state. He might or might not have a prisoner. Tom ought to be back from getting Lucy settled, but Jack was calling as soon as he was free. Either could be in danger, and whatever his conflicted emotions might be for Lucy, she didn't deserve to be in the clutches of Jack's former partner. He always broke his toys.

"Are you looking for a trade?"

"No! Nononono. I want a job."

"What?"

"You have a nice little club, couple of openings. Let me play." He pulled out the "ay" into a long moan.

"I need to know that whoever you've got is safe."

"Who?"

"Have you hurt your prisoner?" Much?

John laughed again. "I don't have a prisoner. But we could get one if you want. D'you remember that magistrate we … "

"I remember," said Jack, who unfortunately did. "You want a job?"

"Thank you for the offer and I accept."

"We're not hiring. Goodbye, John."

"You didn't say Merry Christmas!"

"You told me your planet outlawed all holidays. You don't celebrate Christmas."

"Hey," John said, his accept thickening to the patter of his own backwater homeworld, "when you outlaw Saint Bob-bob's Day, only outlaws have Bob-bobs! We were rebels."

Jack paused again. His own world had a version of Saint Bob-bob's Day. His parents hadn't been religious. Their little family had only kept Jul and Sol, and those casually. But his mother had remarried, after, and her new husband and wife wheedled her into observing the saintly days and the feasts with them.

"Happy Christmas," he said. "And a ballsy Bob-bob's day," he added in Standard.

"Thank you," John preened, and Jack rang off.

Days were days, and holidays were holidays, even if they weren't the right ones. Gray had always loved Jul, loved lighting the candles and singing the songs.

And Jack had lingered here for a reason.

His steps found him at the cold storage section of the morgue, as he'd known they would, and his hands moved over the sensors in the stasis chamber, keeping silent watch over the sleeper within. Jack tried to remember Gray during the good times, the happy moments, had a flash of a little curly-haired boy riding Father's shoulders with the candle-lighter in his hand. But instead, his memories were filled with his step-parents, and with his mother, keeping days that seemed random to him, to pray, to chant, to fast. They'd offered up their devotion and his mother's new-found (or newly-bestowed) piety to show contrition to whatever angry goddess had robbed their home of so many lives. Jul had become a time for mourning and contemplation, and Jack had had enough of both, and said he was leaving, and he had gone.

He placed a hand on Gray's compartment. "Hey," he said, and then his voice cracked. When the mess had first been cleared, and his friends laid to rest, he'd come down here and tried talking out his apologies, tried shouting out his anger. The months had passed and Gray slept on, would sleep until Jack woke him or the world ended, and there was no gift to give him, no candle to let him light against the dark of the year. Jack had failed him, as he failed everyone who trusted him.

He sat down, back against the cold wall. Mourning. Contemplation. Maybe they'd been right.

His phone beeped with a new text message, probably Ianto asking what kind of cake to buy. Jack almost left it, then pulled out his mobile anyway. He didn't recognise the number.

"borrowed sams sons phone happy christmas old man"

He pictured in his mind's eye: Frank fumbling with and swearing at the keys to a borrowed mobile phone, a younger version of Frank's roommate leaning over to explain the buttons.

He texted back: "Same back at you, old man." Sam's son would show him the message. After a moment, Jack added another text: "Thank you."

He held up his mobile, showing the screen to Gray. "That's your nephew." Their family was piecemeal, and broken in places. Frank was dying. Phil had died either decades ago or last month. But Alice and Steven would bring him into their home in the morning, and in the afternoon, he would be welcomed at Rhiannon's house like another brother. The other members of the Doctor's quirky extended family were like beloved cousins. His team, rising again and again from the ashes, was the family he'd built for himself. It wasn't the life he'd imagined when he and Gray had been little kids, but it was Jack's, and it carried him through the dark nights.

With a few clicks, the text was saved, uploaded to his wrist strap so he would never forget. He leaned against the stasis chamber. He'd lost so much from his childhood, but certain memories remained, certain words could not be forgotten.

Jack started to sing in the language of their home, low and sweet in the cold room:

_"The wind is here and you are there  
The sun is rising  
May it blow you back home quickly  
The sun is rising  
The waves have covered over your footsteps  
The sun is rising  
Come dance with me again on the sand  
The sun is rising."_

* * *

Jack's key turned in the lock, and Ianto smiled at the sound. When little things were all they had, those were what mattered, like the string of fairy lights draped over the curtain rod, or the single laundry hamper in their bedroom, or the grind and click of Jack using his own key to the flat's door. Ianto didn't get up from his spot on the floor, instead applying the last of the sticky tape to the package in his hands. David would destroy the paper in about ten seconds but the gift was neatly wrapped for tonight.

Now would be a good time to ask Jack what he'd been up to in the Hub, if he'd finished up some paperwork or given the Weevils a little treat. One glance at Jack's face forestalled questions.

"I picked up sandwiches from that place you like," he said instead. "I've got two more presents to wrap and we're set for tomorrow. The cake is in the kitchen."

"Thanks."

Jack took off his coat and his boots, and he removed something from a deep pocket. For a moment, Ianto's heart quickened, thinking this was a gift for him, and then he recognised the shape of Gwen's present from earlier. She'd found the perfect gift for Ianto, as much as the joke was sharp between them, a reminder of their mortality. She'd also found the perfect thing for Jack: a new box to hold his photographs, this one small enough to carry, but fireproof and with a lock. When Jack had opened it at the Hub, they saw that she'd tucked in a snap of the five of them from a year ago, and printed their names on the back.

It was practical and thoughtful, and Ianto was only a little jealous that he hadn't thought of it first. He hadn't thought of anything. After the gifts from a few months ago, whatever he chose would be half-dressed with implications and accusations, and everything he considered forced him to wonder what Jack would think he was really saying.

His hands moved automatically over the next present as Jack set the new lockbox on the table, and with reverence, transferred the photographs from his old tin box into their new home. Cut, fold, press, add the tape to hold the edges, fold, fold.

Jack lingered over the photographs, as he often did. Ianto wasn't really watching, he told himself, but caught the flash of hands moving, and another snap moved into the pile, a pale black-and-white CCTV capture of Gray's mad face.

He closed his eyes, and reached for the last gift, some garish pink horse for Mica entombed in plastic and cardboard.

The room was quiet, just the sounds of papers shuffling in Jack's hands, and the slither of gift wrap in Ianto's. "It's a lovely box," Ianto said to break the silence. "Gwen went for the six-hour fire resistance, she said."

"Yeah." A thumb brushed over the smooth, thick plastic. "Did you help her pick it out?"

"No." He _had_ mentioned the tin box to her, and she had pushed him for details. He'd thought she was angling for more information about Jack the way they both did, and he had shared this scrap reluctantly, also as they both did, portioning out secrets about Jack between them like rare chocolates. Once, there had been others to gather tidbits and help share, and now just the two of them in what neither would ever say was a competition. (It wasn't. It couldn't be. Everyone involved had made their choices, and even if Ianto sometimes felt like he had been the choice of least resistance, that was still a choice. Jack could have anyone he wanted, but his address form listed this flat. Gwen went home to Rhys every night.)

He sighed inwardly. This was going to be one of the bad nights: too many memories of things they'd all lost and too much musing over what they still could.

Ianto set the last present aside. "Hungry?"

* * *

After food, and love, and some mindless telly, they half-sat, half-sprawled on the sofa together, Jack somewhere far away in his thoughts, Ianto content to be here and warm, his brain still pleasantly mushy from his last orgasm. Right now, before he came all the way back to himself, he could touch his memories of his first Christmas with Lisa without any pain, and remember the peaceful contentment. That hadn't lasted, not with the mind-controlled A-positives climbing to the rooftops, Lisa among them, but it had been nice.

The clock ticked over to midnight.

Jack watched the numbers on the digital readout. "Place your bets on this year's invasion."

"Chickens," Ianto said after a moment's thought. "Giant, fluffy chickens from outer space. When we defeat them, it'll be roast chicken for everyone and solve world hunger with one blow."

"You're a strange man, Ianto Jones."

They settled in together this way. The fairy lights provided a little illumination, and the candles Jack had insisted on added more, making a warm glow. No tree, no fireplace, but Ianto felt Father Christmas would show up any minute. That or they'd fall asleep here, mostly naked on the sofa and stiff in the morning from the awkward angle.

As the buzz in Ianto's head faded, he noted the shadow still on Jack's face. "What are you thinking about?" Normally he wouldn't dare to ask. Normally he'd be afraid of the answer.

"A lot of things. It's been a weird year."

Ianto made a noise of assent, if they defined 'weird' as 'hard, heart-rending, and other synonyms for painful as fuck.'

"We should get to bed or your neck is gonna be hurting tomorrow." Jack extricated himself from where they sat. He said something quietly in a language Ianto didn't know before puffing out the candles, but left the lights as he stretched out a hand to help Ianto up and into the chilly bedroom.

They shivered heat into each other under the covers, warming the cocoon of their bodies into something more comforting. Ianto began to drift off again. Jack's hands were on him, but weren't trying to stroke him into excitement, merely to hold him as he might something prized, something tender. Ianto found Jack's lips and kissed him sleepily before rolling onto his side so Jack could spoon up behind him with all his good heat.

"I was thinking about the Doctor," Jack said softly into Ianto's shoulder, "and about Gwen." All the warmth drained away. It was one thing to consider that he might be Jack's second choice. It hurt whenever he let himself consider he might be third. He shouldn't have asked.

He made a quiet noise like he was falling asleep, instead of wired back awake by the unhappy shot of adrenalin from Jack's words. If Jack noticed, he didn't show it.

"I need someone to be disappointed in me," Jack said. "I need someone to tell me they don't like how I do things, to tell me when they think I'm wrong. It's so easy to let myself think that I'm doing okay, that I've done enough, that I'm a good person."

"You are," Ianto said in a whisper, and Jack kissed the skin he was speaking into.

"I'm not. And if I don't have someone there standing over my shoulder telling me I've screwed up, I get worse. The Doctor was the first person since my parents to think I was important enough to scold. But he also understood me, and he'd show it in the most amazing ways."

Ianto could imagine, though he tried not to. This wasn't how he wanted to spend tonight, or any night. But Jack needed to talk, and Ianto had asked.

"Gwen does the same thing. Even when I'm making the best decision I can, she'll tell me when I've done it wrong, not because she wants to punish me, but because she thinks I can do better. And then she'll do something like the lockbox, and I know she's paying attention to the things that matter."

The annoyance came back, that he hadn't found a gift for Jack, that there hadn't been a single present that seemed right. Outside the window, a lone car shined lights over the curtain and was gone again.

"You asked me once why I came back after I found the Doctor."

Pretending to sleep wasn't working. "You said you came back for all of us."

"I lied." Not a surprise. "I couldn't stay around him anymore. All those years I waited, I thought it would be like old times, but it turns out, without Rose there, all he had for me was the disappointment. I could probably spend the rest of forever trying to live up to his expectations, but it wasn't worth trying."

But Martha had been there, hadn't she? "What about Martha?"

"Martha's not Rose. I love Martha, but she and Rose were so different. Martha liked me. Rose believed in me. Did I ever tell you that?"

He had. When Jack was feeling maudlin, he told stories about Rose to cheer himself up. Perhaps that was what he needed tonight. Jack was rambling because it was Christmas and a time to reflect on everyone lost. Rose was a bright spot in his tales, a name that always made him smile.

"Tell me again."

"Rose thought I was a good person, even when the evidence was right in front of her that I wasn't. Any time I screwed up, she'd shrug it off as a mistake. When the Doctor stood there looking at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe, she'd just smile, and I'd want to be a better person because she already thought I was. And without her there, without her faith in me, I just … I couldn't stay."

"She was there in the TARDIS when the Daleks came." You could have stayed with her, with them. You came back to us.

"Yeah. And she's gone home to that other universe, and I don't think I'm ever going to see her again." His voice was thick, and sad, and it was another loss piled on in a year of loss. A small, mean part of Ianto whispered in his head that the one thing worse than being the third choice was finding out that you were really somewhere around fourth and dropping quickly.

"I'm a mess, you know I'm a mess. You know I'm a fake and a fraud and a liar and a thief, but you believe in me anyway. You think I'm a good man even when you've seen that I'm not."

"You are." He rolled back over and kissed Jack, not least to get him to shut up.

Ianto would take it, would take second or third or fourth, as long as it meant these arms holding him, this clever mouth touching his. He'd take stories about people Jack had known and still loved, he'd listen to "Gwen is just like the Doctor and I need that," without flinching. It was all one with loving Jack for everything he was, and Ianto was long past the point where he could stop. And he had the note, which he kept in his pocket, Jack's scribble from some nebulous future where everything was all right. His number on the hierarchy of Jack's affections didn't matter, so long as he knew there would come a time when he mattered enough to Jack for him to leave that kind of gift.

The kisses slowed, and Jack drew Ianto close. "I just wanted you to know that."

"All right," he said, for something to say, and settled as if to sleep.

Jack's arms tightened protectively. "I need someone around to keep me focused on who I ought to be, but I really need someone to think I'm already there."

"You're saying I remind you of a blonde teenaged girl."

"Exactly," Jack said, in a relieved tone.

His thoughts drifted, not as peacefully as before, but towards sleep. When he was almost gone, he heard Jack whisper, "Because I'd've followed the Doctor anywhere, trying to live up to what he thought I ought to be. But I'd have married Rose."

* * *

_December 25th_

* * *

The message said to meet in a coffee shop two streets from her parents' house. Lois ordered for herself, and waited for Mr. Frobisher. Ten minutes later, she was joined, but not by Frobisher.

She'd only met Mr. Gloucester once. Her mouth was dry. "Sir," she said, and took a casual sip of not very good coffee.

"Do you know who this is?" He slid a newspaper clipping across the table to her. Lois scanned the photograph.

"Lucy Saxon." Lois had a weakness for the gossip rags, and had followed the stories of the beautiful young woman on Harry Saxon's arm, her rise to fame and her fall. She'd died in prison shortly after her arrest for her husband's murder, a suicide according to the police. Neat, and sad. There'd been no children.

"Last week, I received word that Mrs. Saxon broke out of prison and appears to have fled the country. Do you know anything about this?"

She licked her lip, tasting the bit of whipped cream left there. "Torchwood broke a prisoner out of gaol last week. I noted it in my report. The name we were given was Susan Foreman."

"Yes." Another paper was pushed over the table, a UNIT summary page.

_Name: Susan Foreman  
Species: Gallifreyan  
DOB: unknown  
Location: unknown  
Notes: Known companion of the Doctor, suggested familial relationship, believed deceased_

There was a picture that looked nothing like Lucy Saxon.

"While it's possible Mrs. Saxon was another regeneration of the alien known as Susan Foreman, I believe you were given an alias because the Captain likes his little jokes."

Lois nodded.

"Does he know you're here?"

"I am in London visiting my family," she recited.

"Remind me of why you do your job." She held her shiver; Mr. Gloucester was rumoured to be mildly psychic, one of the few outsiders trained under Torchwood London's program.

"For the safety and security of the British people, and the world." Her words were almost inaudible over the noises of the bustle in the shop, people coming in for their Christmas caffeine between visits to Grandmother and Aunt Sally.

"Lucy Saxon murdered the Prime Minister, and Captain Harkness is believed to be one of her accomplices. He freed her from prison and helped her escape the country. He flouts the law at every opportunity, and now he's released a murderess. Your reports have been clear on his problem submitting to governmental oversight, his flagrant disregard for orders, and even his willingness to subvert time itself for his own ends."

"In my report, I mentioned there were extenuating circumstances for the attempted time manipulation I witnessed."

"Yes, he was planning on returning to World War II and saving his son's life."

"That wasn't his intention." Jack had merely planned to be there at the end for him. Phil, who had Jack's laughing eyes, and who'd been Perry's friend.

"You've been working with the Captain. Would he have stood by and watched his son die when he could have easily taken the bullet for him and walked away from it?"

No. And that's why she'd prevented him from going. The risk had been too great. "No, sir."

"You have your own people in place?"

"Yes."

"Yet you didn't use them to seize control during the Captain's recent absence. He and Jones were gone. Cooper and the new man would have been easy for you to subdue."

She'd considered her options when she'd heard the announcement, and over the days that followed. "I felt it was too dangerous to attempt a coup while Harkness and Jones were on the loose. And my orders were to wait until Torchwood provided an immediate threat." They hadn't, even with the mishandling of the Ad'xtii situation, but then, she'd been kept out of the loop about Lucy Saxon. From both sides, she had noticed. What else were they hiding right in front of her that she'd missed?

Lois fingered the fringe of her new scarf.

"Then you have your orders, Agent." He took a long drink of the coffee and made a face. "It's time to put them into action. Take down Torchwood."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

The End

* * *

AN: My three favorite words are "I liked this." The next story in this series is "War Games."


End file.
